A Murder of Crows
by Harlequin Ravenwing
Summary: Zevran Arainai and Bronwen Cousland left Ferelden with their baby son, but murder and politics are the lifeblood of Antiva and they have to fight to survive. The Crows want them dead, the Merchant Princes want to use them and when Bronwen turns to an old friend for help, the cost could be more than she is willing to pay. Sequel to 'Truth in the Blood'. Rated M for future content.


**For Zevgirl...a great writer, great inspiration and an even greater friend.**

* * *

A KNIFE IN THE DARK

If the woman had to name something about the portside in Antiva City that she feared she would never get used to, it would have to be the smell.

On an unpleasantly humid spring day such as this, the acrid stench of the hides being treated in tanning warehouses assaulted the senses like nothing else in Thedas, and as if that wasn't enough, the stink seemed to be competing for dominance against the overpowering odour of the day's catch as it sat baking in the hot sun. Worse still was when the two merged together. Then the combined smells formed an invisible, sickly fog that wafted through the narrow city streets with all the potency of an archdemon's fart, causing even the most hardened of men to cough and splutter if they breathed in too deeply of the noxious odour.

For their part, the sailors and dockworkers seemed almost oblivious to it all. Instead, they carried on with their business, loading and unloading cargo, checking ship manifests and rushing to pack the freshly caught fish in barrels of rapidly melting ice before it spoiled in the heat. A few of them worked bare-chested, and at least there was some pleasure to be taken from watching the more well-muscled among them going about their daily routine while inadvertently showing off their splendid physiques to the many whores that plied their trade in the local taverns.

Standing out from this crowd as obviously as a peacock stands out in a henhouse, the travelling merchants, visiting dignitaries and the noble elite of the city were easy to spot as they disembarked from the sleek passenger ships that made their birth on the easternmost end of the jetty. Their personal guards and members of the city militia did their best to keep away the steady stream of beggars and cutpurses that hovered optimistically at the dockside, but it was always a constant battle. In fact, they were only free of the unwanted grasping attention when they finally reached their waiting carriages, as the drivers were not averse to using their whips to keep the local riff-raff from pestering their precious charges. Indeed, to some of them it almost seemed like sport.

What a delightful way to spend an afternoon...

Makers breath, but it had seemed like forever that she had been standing here in the shadows of the run-down outbuilding, dressed in dirty filthy rags and watching the ebb and flow of the crowd for signs of a man she didn't know, with a face she wouldn't recognise.

He wouldn't be among those finely dressed noblemen, of that she was certain. The man she was seeking would be trying not to be seen, but that in itself would be just the giveaway she needed. Word had been passed that today was the day he would arrive, and that he was a true professional who had never failed in his appointed task. His name was a mystery, as was his disposition, but there were things she had been taught to look out for, things that could give a man away as easily as if he stood atop a mountain and announced himself to the world.

It was just a matter of waiting and watching…

Another hour passed and then another. Gradually, the hot spring day began to turn into a cooler evening, the air growing chilly as a series of showers dampened not only the sprints of those unfortunates still out on the streets, but the woman's own spirits as the man failed to make an appearance. Workers began to hurry home as their shifts drew to a close, and those sailors who had been awarded shore leave rushed into the taverns to spend their hard-earned coin on wine, women and whatever else they were offering!

Having less people about wasn't quite as helpful as it would suggest, however. The man would certainly be less likely to make an appearance if he thought he couldn't simply blend into the crowd and disappear and yet...

Wait…what was that...?

A figure, no more than a shadow really, was skirting the dockside.

If her instincts were correct, he…yes…definitely a _he_ must have managed to slip off a nearby schooner and make it to the wooden jetty just beyond without being seen by the sailors, the harbourmaster or any of the other attending port officials.

Well, either that or he'd paid them off.

The way he walked was with the air of one who if seen by a stranger, looked like he belonged. But she had spent a lot of time with companions who had taught her to watch for the tell-tale signs of one who is seeks to avoid attention by blending in too well, and this man was trying a little bit too hard.

Although he didn't shy away from walking beneath the lit lanterns that hung outside the buildings, he was careful to keep his face hidden within the hood of his simple and unassuming black cloak, and no one would think to question such behaviour in this rather dismal weather anyway. His gaze, on the rare occasions he lifted his head, seemed to be focused on the rooftops above him rather than his chosen path and the way he kept flexing his gloved fingers, it was as if he was preparing for something.

Shifting noiselessly from her hiding spot she followed him at a safe distance, silently pacing with all the stealth of an old alley cat and watching with great interest when he finally made his way toward the back of the chantry building.

The chantry!

Of course!

She gave it some time before shuffling off once more, holding her back crooked and limping on one leg as she approached the nearby alleyway that ran alongside the stone walls of the religious house. There were often storage crates left outside, where donations of foodstuffs had been passed to the benevolent sisters for distribution among the poor, or to grace their own tables if one was cynical enough to believe such things. Carefully, she began picking her way through them, as there were often tasty morsels to be found if one was prepared to look, but alas the sisters had obviously eaten well this evening!

Skirting the chantry walls, in case there was more to find, revealed absolutely nothing. There were no more crates, there was no more food and there was no sign of the man either...

Interesting.

A cursory inspection of the back door revealed that it had not been opened recently. The wrought iron handle was still wet and shining black, whereas any touch from the man's gloved hand would have at least wiped off some of the raindrops. Aside from that, the door had never hung quite comfortably on its hinges and always scraped along the top of the stone steps that led down from the doorway. In this weather, the wood would also have no doubt swollen and the lack of creaking and scraping as she rounded the building was another giveaway that her quarry had not entered the chantry that way.

So that left only one option.

Pulling her ragged cloak about her shoulders, the woman smiled as she discovered a small, bruised but nonetheless perfectly edible apple tucked into the bottom of a nearby barrel. Still smiling to herself, she pocketed the precious fruit and shuffled out of the chantry grounds to seek shelter in a rickety lean-to opposite the building, adjacent to a nearby tavern. Glancing around as she shook the raindrops from her clothes, she quickly spotted a small boy crouching behind a broken trough and nodded at him.

Slowly, he emerged from his hiding place and warily extended his hand toward her. The woman smiled reassuringly and then handed him the apple.

"Tell him 'the chantry roof'."

She spoke in heavily accented Ferelden, and like a rabbit fleeing from a predator, the boy took off into the night.

As she watched him disappearing into one of the myriad alleyways that criss-crossed the city, the woman straightened and stretched. No longer was her back as crooked as a gambler's dice, no longer did she limp like a soldier with an old war wound, and it was almost as if the very shadows around her enveloped her in a black embrace.

Then, a shadow within the shadows began to move and with a beat of its wings, a slender raven alighted upon the beams of the broken roof.

"Go." The woman whispered to it, her form obscured by the darkness. "I will be watching."

The raven simply bobbed its head and then flew up into the darkening sky. She knew that the bird would now stay out of sight until nightfall.

That was when the real work would begin.

* * *

One of the first things an assassin learned was how to understand the darkness. The Guildmaster had always said that the embrace of night was as fickle as the love of a beautiful woman, and although there was something warm and almost seductive about the way a man could lose himself in deepest shadow, that same blackness could also mask the hidden blade that could end his life with nothing more than a whisper...or even a kiss. Darkness was both enemy and ally, strength and vulnerability, lover and betrayer, and a true master knew how to read the secrets of its shrouded mysteries and turn them to his own advantage.

And if Emilio Dantere was aware of all this, then so was his mark…

When the contract had first come in there had been many assassins who had turned aside from such a challenge, cowards and traitors both, whose loyalty to the Crows was in question and whose lives were most likely forfeit for their lack of commitment to the cause. Still, there had been yet more of his brothers and sisters who had bid for the contract with as much passion and determination as Emilio himself. They had been true assassins each and every one, whose only reason was the chance to utilise their skills and execute a perfect kill, but even after winning such a prestigious prize, they had failed to complete their task and brought dishonour upon the guild.

So it was most definitely a sign of the Guildmaster's confidence and high regard that now it was Emilio that had been singled out for this most important task.

It was definitely a sign that his standing within the Crows was very much improved…

His mark had once been a Crow himself, a former Guildmaster no less whose feigned loyalty had been exposed when he betrayed the guild for the sake of a woman.

A woman!

It was almost unthinkable.

To become a Crow was to forsake all things that other men and women took for granted. The physical training involved in learning to be a master of the art pushed the body to the very limits of endurance, and the mental and emotional conditioning that was supposed to purge the heart of all weakness would break an ordinary man! Years of relentless pain and unimaginable torture were endured without complaint in order to strip away the sympathies and sentimentalism that could so easily bring an assassin to his end, and even worse, to fail the Guild and the client both.

Yet despite all this, it was said that his mark had failed the Guild not once, but twice due to a weakness of the heart. A sickness that had caused one of the best assassins in all of Thedas to turn against his brethren and betray all that he was.

Emilio would never be swayed by such weaknesses.

Actually, it was surprising that the traitorous elf had decided to return to Antivan shores. The knife-eared fool can't really have thought he could just walk back into the bosom of the Crows after everything he had done? It was known by all the brothers and sisters that the Guildmaster, Cesare Falco, had once embraced the _cerdo sucio_ as a brother. Together, they had breathed life back into the Guild after the infighting that occurred during the accursed Blight, but now…now the elf's very name was a curse upon the House and a source of shame for all those who sought to hold true to the values of the Crows. His actions had once again spilt the Guild into two, ruthless professional assassins like himself who knew the meaning of tradition and loyalty, and those pathetic fawning simpletons who sought only to follow the traitor to the grave.

For that was the only way in which the House of Crows could be united once more.

Zevran Arainai had to die.

A slight flicker of the eyelid was the only sign that Emilio was taken aback by the jagged flash of lightening that suddenly stabbed through the darkness. It was followed by an overhead peal of thunder that shook the roof of the chantry as if the very hand of the Maker himself was trying to knock him from the building. A soft sigh escaped the assassin's lips as the drizzling rain became heavier, its icy needles seeking to penetrate through his cloak to prickle at his skin even as it slickened the already slippery roof tiles. No matter. Emilio had always been sure of his footing and tonight was no exception. He had picked the spot just to the left of the bell tower because it afforded the greatest view of the street below. Every darkened alley and shrouded doorway was exposed to the view of a man who knew how to look, and Emilio was such a man.

For a month now he had waited for an opportunity, listening to every rumour and following up on the hushed whispers of the many back alley informants that were so easily bought and sold in this city. Now finally, he had his chance.

Arainai was on the move.

The muted sounds of bawdy music drifting up from the tavern on the other side of the street, suddenly increased in volume as the doors were flung open and a group of revellers stumbled out into the nights deluge. There was shouting and complaint as the shock of the cold hard rain startled them partway to sobriety, but they soon enough laughed at the folly of such protests and staggered off, no doubt in search of somewhere new to quench their thirsts. Their voices could still be heard echoing across the courtyard down below, even after they had long since disappeared from Emilio's sight but eventually there was nothing but the sound of the rain drumming against the roof tiles.

More time passed with little to see aside from a beggar woman looking for shelter from the storm, and a couple of well-to-do merchants seeking to find a whorehouse in which to spend their money and no doubt gain a disease.

Emilio frowned slightly as he slowly clenched and unclenched his fist to try and ease the tension from his body, but then he felt burning eyes upon him. Up above, high atop a statue of Andraste, a shadow in the night angrily shrugged its feathery shoulders to shake the raindrops from its midnight wings. A large black bird, a raven no less, was perched like some ancient bedraggled gargoyle upon Andraste's sword and even in the dim light, Emilio could make out its glinting eyes, fearlessly fixed upon him and regarding him with such a look of studious curiosity that the assassin felt almost uncomfortable under such close scrutiny.

Still, it could only be a good sign. Ravens and crows were close cousins and perhaps the Maker himself had sent the bird to witness his success…

The raven's gaze was suddenly drawn to the shadows near the old fishmongers shop, just off to one side of the street below. Emilio followed its lead to see a figure, hooded and cloaked, carefully moving from one hiding place to the next, apparently unaware that he was being watched. Dropping to his belly despite the feel of the cold, wet tiles beneath him, Emilio crept forward and watched intently as the figure made his way to the main street and then paused, glancing this way and that to see if he was being observed.

A flash of lightening brightened the sky and the raven cawed loudly in shock and surprise. The figure, jumping at the sound glanced upwards and Emilio allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction as a lock of pale hair spilled from beneath the figure's hood, and the delicate features of a knife-eared elf were briefly illuminated in the fleeting white light.

So, the rumours were true.

Arainai was here.

Not daring to breathe lest the slightest movement give away his position, Emilio watched intently as Arainai scanned the rooftops. He felt his stomach knot with tension when the former assassin's glittering eyes fell upon the chantry roof, but thankfully the Maker was watching him that night. With a flurry of feathers and noise, the raven flew up into the night sky to escape the crackling lightening and, if the bird had any sense, to seek shelter from the deluge that was now pouring relentlessly from the skies. Down below, Arainai seemed to slump in relief as he watched the raven fly to an unknown destination and then after a few final checks, the elf continued to wend his way along the blackened streets.

Emilio smiled again and pulled himself into a low crouch. Making his way along the rooftops with the skill that only year and years of training could bring, he carefully crept along the slippery tiles, mirroring the cautious progress of the elf down below and silently pulled a long thin stiletto from its place on his belt. A few more steps and Arainai would be below the statue of Andraste. This was the ideal place to take the target by surprise.

Dropping easily from the end of arched roof, Emilio landed noiselessly upon the cathedral steps and withdrew into the darkened shadows behind one of the heavy stone columns that flanked the chantry doors. He steadily slowed his breathing so that it was no more audible than a whisper of a ghost, and pressed himself again the wall, blending into the welcome darkness that shielded him from sight. A moment later, his heart caught in his mouth as he heard the soft footfalls of the former guildmaster approaching from the left.

The stiletto seemed to pulse in his hand, the cold steel seeking only the hot blood of his victim as the elf himself rounded the corner and stalked into range, and Emilio fought to still a tremor that could so easily mess up his kill.

By Andraste's mercy, it was difficult to suppress the nervous excitement he felt at the prospect of being known as the assassin who killed Zevran Arainai!

With only the slightest of movements, Emilio breathed in deeply and began to confidently steal around the column to get behind the elf…

PAIN!

Agonising and unexpected pain lanced through Emilio's body as an unseen blade punched into his back and slipped between his ribs. It was quickly followed by an evacuation of his bladder and bowels…the first sign that he was losing control of the lower half of his body.

The second sign was noticing the stone steps of the chantry rushing up to hit him as he collapsed to the floor.

Above him, the shadows seemed to be shifting. They swirled and twisted in the wind until finally, the unmistakeable figure of a woman as pale as the moonlight and with hair as black as her armour, stepped forward to grab him by the shoulders and drag him back into the cover of the doorway.

A raven…no…_the_ raven from earlier perched upon the Chanter's board beside her, and it watched with interest as the woman carelessly released him and let him slump back to the ground.

The sound of slow clapping dragged his gaze from cold face of the woman to swaggering figure that now climbed the chantry steps. Even through the hazy sheet of rain, Emilio could see the broad grin that was spreading across the face of Zevran Arainai and it chilled him to the bone.

He'd _known_ he was coming.

He had known all along.

Emilio's assassination attempt had been over before it even begun.

* * *

Well the fool was no Taliesin, that much was for certain.

Before all that unfortunate business with the Blight and the Warden meant that he'd had to kill him, Zevran had always thought that Taliesin had been a pretty good assassin. In fact, he'd almost been as good as he was himself…

Almost, but not quite.

True, he'd had a certain amount of natural talent, but he'd also lacked somewhat in finesse. Then again there were some talents you could teach, and there were some talents that you were born with, and Zevran was fortunate to have been born with many such talents.

Unlike the poor unfortunate fellow that now lay in a pool of his own _mierda_ on the chantry steps.

"Ah, my friend." He sighed as he crouched beside the stricken assassin. "Did you really think I would be so easy to kill? It breaks my heart to know that my reputation is now such that you would even attempt such a thing in this manner. I am most bitterly disappointed."

The assassin groaned pathetically as he was divested of his weapons and poisons, but Zevran simply rolled his eyes and tutted in annoyance.

"I at least expected Cesare to send someone after me who was a little more…shall we say, skilled? All this crouching on the rooftops and skulking in doorways, it is so…unimaginative. Do you not think so, my heart?"

His female companion said nothing, but simply glared at her victim with eyes as cold and grey as the stone beneath them. However, if the look she gave the failed assassin was brimming with unrestrained hatred, then the tender concern that softened her features as she lifted her gaze to meet his, almost made his heart melt.

"Zev…" She murmured, cautiously kneeling at his side and wiping dark blood from her blade. "This cannot continue."

"Nor will it, amora." He said softly, reaching out a gloved hand to cup her silken cheek. "All will be well, I swear it."

A rasping cough made her glance back down in disgust as the foiled assassin clutched at her arm.

"You are the Cousland whore." He spat, blood frothing between his lips. "The _coño_ who destroyed our guild…"

"Ah ah ah!" Zevran pressed the tip of his dagger against the assassin's eyelid and traced it delicately around his socket. "Since these are your last words, I would have a care how you speak of my beloved. The poison she used is killing you certainly, but there is still time to deliver you to the next world in the most exquisite agony…"

"Zev, please…" Still full of cold rage but unwilling to see the man suffer any further, Bronwen Cousland sighed heavily. "Just ask your question and let's be done with it."

Zevran smiled and inclined his head in agreement before looking back to the assassin with a shrug.

"Ah, the concern she shows even for one such as you, it is touching, no?" He leaned in so closely that his lips almost brushed the assassin's ear. "My lady has such a tender heart. Is it not easy to see why I love her so?"

A spasm of pain wracked the body of the assassin, causing his lips to peel back from his teeth in a grimace. Gently lifting his head to cradle it against his thighs, Zevran watched in silence until the seizure passed and then stared deeply into his eyes.

"You know my friend, once you and I were not so different. We have both killed for the Crows because our masters told us to and also because we sought to be the best assassins in all Antiva, adored by our lovers, admired by our rivals and feared by our targets. Alas where I achieved my goal in a relatively short time, you yourself have chosen to forfeit your ambitions not for the benefit of the Crows and their rightful guildmaster, but for the glory of the traitor Cesare Falco…"

"Cesare Falco _is_ the House of Crows!" The assassin rasped, fighting for each breath and with eyes full of hate. "You…you forfeited the right to call yourself Guildmaster when you chose…_cough cough_… chose to betray your own to spare this…_cough_…this _puta _and her royal-bastard!"

Zevran felt his temper rising as a wracking coughing fit temporarily robbed the man of speech.

"I warn you again to choose your words carefully." He growled as the spasm passed, leaving the assassin hovering on the brink of death. "I chose to spare her because that is my right as Guildmaster, though it seems you forget this!"

"I forget nothing, traitor!"

"That is good to know." Zevran said with a cold smile. "Then in that case, you will not have forgotten where it is that I can find Falco and then we can finally settle this matter once and for all."

Despite the agonising pain that was now coursing through his veins, the assassin grinned. "Unlike you Arainai, my loyalty is still to the Crows…"

"Tell me." Zevran snarled, pressing the tip of his dagger into the soft flesh of the assassin's throat. "Tell me now or so help me…"

"Fuck you…" The assassin wheezed, speckled saliva spraying over Zevran's face as he forced the words passed his bloodstained teeth. "Falco will find you soon enough…cough cough…kill you slowly…kill your precious whore…and her suckling whelp…"

"_Bastardo_!" Zevran didn't even realise he had slit the assassin's throat until he felt hot blood spilling out over his britches.

"Zev…" A firm hand grasped his shoulder and he looked up to see Bronwen watching him with wary concern. "Zev, come on. We can't stay here, it's not safe."

Her eyes were wide with alarm and she glanced anxiously toward the east. Even despite the darkness and the rain, it was not hard to miss the hazy yellow light of dawn that was stealthily creeping beneath the clouds.

"Go." He said with a sigh, kissing her gently on the forehead and feeling more weary than he had in a long time. "Go back to the safe house and wait for me there."

She frowned. "I'm not leaving you…"

"Do it!" He snapped, flinching from her touch. "Do it now, or would you see us both caught in the open with a dead body at our feet? Maker knows, not even Andraste herself could save us from judgement on that one!"

Her face hardened at his tone, but then she gave a single nod and disappeared from view, blending seamlessly into the darkness that coalesced around her body.

As the former Warden-Commander and queen of Ferelden, Bronwen Cousland was not used to being ordered about and usually did not respond well to such tactics. However right now, time was of the essence and he would gladly risk her wrath, not to mention a cold shoulder in bed, to see her safe and away from…

away from…

away from all this.

Zevran felt his shoulders slump as not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a serious mistake in tearing her away from her life in Ferelden. It had most certainly been a life filled with comfort and security, and with a man as devoted to her as he was himself. Alistair may have been a boy in many ways, but as the King of Ferelden, he had been someone whom Bronwen respected and cared for, if not truly loved. As a man, she said he could have been no better husband to her and as a father…well. As a father he was doting, loving and had given everything of himself to see that baby Alejandro was happy.

Hmm.

As a disgraced guildmaster and trained assassin, what could Zevran Arainai really ever hope to give his most precious son and his beautiful mother, other than a life filled with danger and the possibility that they could all end up being enslaved, murdered or worse…

More thunder crashed noisily overhead and was accompanied by a flash of brilliant lightening that illuminated the huddling form of the raven that still remained perched on the Chanter's board. As he watched it staring at him intently, Zevran couldn't help the wry smile that crept across his face.

"So, my dearest heart Bronwen has left you here to watch over me, eh?"

The raven cawed and nodded as if in complete understanding.

"Well then…" Zevran grunted as he slid his hands beneath the shoulders of the dead assassin and dragged him into the chantry gardens. "I had better hurry back to her yes, otherwise you will be telling tales on me."

The raven simply shrugged off the raindrops that had settled on his wings and then cawed again impatiently.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Zevran muttered as he hurriedly wiped the blood from his britches and pulled up his hood against the driving rain and the creeping dawn.

"Tell me this." He said as he passed beneath the waiting bird. "Does she see everything you see, and hear everything you hear?"

The raven blinked and then regarded him with a most unsettling gaze before bobbing its head.

"I see." Zevran murmured, and then smiled again. "Well then in that case, do make sure that she knows I love her more than anything else in this world, and tell her that I will see her very soon."

The raven skewed its head dubiously.

"I promise." Zevran added quickly, and then blew the bird a kiss. "Tell her that too, if you can."

For a moment the raven paused and Zevran half-expected it to answer him, but then with a flurry of feathers and raindrops, the great black bird took off into the air and vanished from sight.

And as the city finally began to stir from its slumber, Zevran Arainai decided that it would be very prudent for him to do the same thing.

* * *

_Well, it has been a long time coming as wanted to make sure that I had the story all planned before I began writing, but finally here is the first chapter of the sequel to Truth in the Blood._

_I know raven isn't a creature choice for a ranger in DA:O, but I figured that Bronwen would want something more discreet in the big city. (Not many wolves wandering the streets of Antiva!)_

_I will also be messing around with the DA timelines a little, as my fic will eventually include a certain tormented mage passing through on his way to the Free Marches…_

_As ever, thanks for reading and please bear with me if it's a while between updates! _

_So many fics…so little time, LOL!_

_Quin xXx_


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